Breathing for Soap
by Chayden
Summary: Craig and Tweek have been apart for a long time. When Tweek returns to South Park, will the two be able to overcome the dark habits they developed while they were apart? What is their relationship, and will it survive? Self-hurt and hot CREEK action :D
1. Chapter 1  Closer to Home

**./Breathing for Soap, Chapter 1 – Closer to Home**

**A/N: Hey, dudes! Chay here :D This is not my first fanfiction – oh, hellz no. Not by a long shot. This IS a Craig x Tweek slash fic, though, and it IS rated M for certain... erm... **_**situations**_**... that shall be discussed in further detail at a later date. It's also the first fic that should probably be taken seriously, herp derp :I**

**Um. Hot gay action, drug use, and self-harm. Yay! **

**I'm just gonna say now that I'm a little review whore~ Flamers, idolizers, whoever the hell you are, come on at me, bro. I love you all just the same!**

Things have a habit of coming to me when I need them the most. They don't ever think to ask; they just waltz right into my life like they fucking own the place. "Oh, what, this might be disturbing the perfectly stable existence of Craig Tucker? Fuck that shit! That kid's a pussy. He just likes to act like he's all tough and manly because he's _scared_ of showing a little _human emotion_. Isn't that right, chullo boy?"

...Yeah, sometimes I wanna punch a cunt, too.

Well, this... particular thing decided to occur during the most beautiful time of day, aka the time of day when fucking with me is possibly the worst decision one could ever make. Not quite night, but not quite dawn, either. Somewhere around five, when the sun is just barely trying to struggle through the clouds, to dispel the wispy layers of fog that gathered while it was asleep. When the world is somehow brighter, so crisp and stark that it feels like even one articulate thought will break the spell. Then, the birds haven't even awoken. Your breath catches in your chest, because you don't _want_ to breathe, don't want to risk exhaling too hard and dissolving the illusion yourself, before it's had the chance to really play out...

I was sitting in the rocking chair by my window with my face pressed up against the screen. The wind hadn't decided whether or not it wanted to pick up, and no cars raced down the road to make the decision for it. The only noise was the _clack, clack_ of my phone as I slid the keyboard in and out.

I didn't need my cellphone that morning; it was there of its own accord. No one was ever up at such a tender time, anyway. They would all be asleep, but I was better off for it. It left more of the stoicism for me...

Briefly, the face of an insomniac flashed through my mind. By the time I'd registered the fact that his wild hair was a bright lemon blonde, my subconscious had already locked him safely away. He had been gone for far too long – no point in reopening old wounds.

I shook my head, letting my chin drop to my chest. I stared at my phone, now resting in my lap, half-frustrated that I hadn't been able to enjoy Craig time properly. I was about to give up on getting any sleep at all, for once, when my phone buzzed. Yeah, that's right, it fucking _buzzed_. Before sunrise. On a school day.

"Wha-? Fuh-?" I grumbled, snatching it up. The screen flashed a notification for a new text message, but didn't show the sender. I opened it regardless.

It took me a full ten minutes to register the meaning of the three little words that glared at me as the sun poked over the mountain.

_ I came back._

No. No. Nobody pulls shit on Craig Tucker. I am not going to think about this, I am not going to dare to hope that it's him... He's already come to mind once this morning; I don't need this again.

But the longer I looked at it, the more I doubted that this was a hoax. With my heart strangling itself in my throat [little bastard _knows_ it's not allowed to wander, dammit], I clicked through to see who had sent the message.

"It can't fucking be..!"

I found my way to my wreck of a desk without meaning to at all, rifling perhaps angrily through my drawers, unable to process what was happening. My brain was stuck in this ridiculous white haze as I came across my address book at last. I flipped through it with urgency, scanning the pages, finding what I couldn't admit that I wanted, running my eyes over it until they began to water...

The number on the page matched the one from my phone, and yet I still couldn't believe it.

Suddenly, it was all I could to to keep myself from crying out as I launched myself onto my bed, where the traitorous bit of machinery was undoubtedly waiting to laugh in my face when I found out this whole fucking thing was too good to be true.

The fingers that typed out the response surely did not belong to me. I could not feel the lenience of the keys below them any more than I could feel their absurd trembling. My eyes watched anyway, transfixed, as the message was sent. They still hadn't blinked when my phone vibrated a few minutes later.

_ Tweek._

_It's me._

It hadn't been a question, but he'd understood me regardless.

The heavy steam from the shower did nothing for the shaking. I stood with my arms wrapped around myself in the stream of scalding water, waiting to stop trembling.

All of this shit was so unlike me. I didn't know what to do, didn't know where to turn my thoughts. I couldn't turn them to nothing; the second reality kicked back in, that traitor of a heart decided it was a good time to start flipping again.

"He's just a fucking kid!" I screamed at myself, stomping my feet and slamming my forehead against the wall of the glass stall. "A fucking kid who's been gone for five fucking years, but still a _fucking kid_!"

think I need to explain.

Tweek Tweak and I were best friends the week after our fight. Inexplicably, I liked him. He squeaked like Stripe, and he was unpredictable, predictably. Sure, he was prone to spastic fits, but there was a pattern – a method to his madness, if you will. After spending a few days in the same hospital room, I was able to understand that pattern. First step: something would spook him.

Even the tiniest little thing was enough to set him off. The passage of footsteps in the hall, the beeping of our life monitors, or even an awry thought [I could tell when his thoughts were becoming worrisome when his noises picked up]. Second step: he'd squeal.

Like, a legit scream. And a jump. And why not throw in a couple good twitches, while we're at it? He'd let out a decent string of Jesus-related crap, too. Depending on what it was that got to him, that could last quite a while. Which leads us to the third step [my favorite]: the calming.

For a long time, the only thing that could get Tweek to settle down was a good long swig of coffee. I swear, that little shit's got coffee stains on his DNA, that's how bad it is. After a while, the coffee lost its title as the one thing good for relaxing Tweeks. It was a few months after we really became friends, I think. A few months of us doing absolutely everything together – eating, sleeping, contemplating getting into trouble but never doing much – and _I _was his coolant, too. Sometimes, he'd even rush into my arms _before_ going for his thermos, and it was times like those that made me sooo happy.

We didn't even have to be doing anything. Simply _being_, and being close to each other, was enough to keep us contented. But, of course, spending all that time together meant that we really got to know each other's quirks. The second anything was amiss with him, I'd home in on it. That's why his freak outs fit into my boring life: I knew every aspect of them inside and out, like we were two halves of a fucking whole, or something gay like that.

So when he started acting withdrawn when we were alone, I knew something was up. He would look down, pull on the hem of his shirt and bite his lip... but that was it. No twitching. No _gah_s or _eek_s or _nngh_s [I enjoyed them the most, those _nngh_s]. Just... silence.

And he knew me well enough that even getting him to see my stern expression caused the spilling of the beans.

"...I'm moving."

I remember that day so well; at least the part that matters, that is. We were sitting on Tweek's brown shag carpet, and I was thinking about how it used to be brown as I watched him. I didn't want to do anything other than find out what had been eating him, but once I knew, I'd have done anything to make him take it back. I couldn't lose him... Not Tweek! Anyone but Tweek!

"You aren't," I wanted to deadpan... It came out as a gasp.

His eyebrows crinkled with pity as he stretched out a tentative hand to me. "Cr-Craig..."

"I said you're not." I didn't want his pity. I didn't want him to know how my ribs were cracking as we spoke... only it wasn't really my ribs. It was my heart.

"I-it's not my f-f-fault!" he wailed, flopping forward to bury his face in my lap. I remember flinching upward, as if initiating contact myself would jinx something and end up making our time shorter.

...I couldn't say anything as he sobbed onto me. There was nothing for Craig Tucker _to_ say. I could only rest my palm on his neck and scrunch up my nose to combat the tears that I could not let show. I knew that, if he saw how broken I was, life would be that much harder for him.

So I let him go. Not knowing who to be mad with, I channeled my anger through a pen as I scrawled out my cell and home numbers. I made him do the same, and as ridiculous as it sounds, that scrap of paper was the last thing I had to remind me of him.

It still has its very own page in my address book, and it's what spurred me to be... self-destructive when I knew that he was not coming back. There are blood spatters on it from the very first time, in fact.

But that was all a long time ago. Sixth grade... we had just barely survived the first month of middle school, and his parents decided to rip my one real human connection from me.

Now, about to start my second month of eleventh grade, I don't know who they expect me to forgive.

I think the first course of action should be to get out of the fucking shower.


	2. Chapter 2  Aching

**./Breathing for Soap, Chapter 2 – Aching**

**A/N: ****Herpa lerpa. The fact that this is fanfiction means that I don't own South Park, ja? Ja.**

**I WOULD, however, love to be owned by something as magnificently sexy as Craig Tucker.**

**I listened to Fame by Drop Dead, Gorgeous while I wrote this because it was stuck in my head c:**

**And then the next time I listened to Graveyard Dancing by DRUGS because they are godly. ****?**

**Recap: Craig Tucker struggles with the fact that his best friend in the entire world is returning to South Park after five long years of being apart. Also, he takes showers longer than mine. :B**

It took too long for me to steel myself enough to dry off. My mind was fuzzed over so badly that I could barely even recognize my own fucking face in the mirror. I let out an angry huff and gave my cheeks a few quick slaps with both hands simultaneously.

"Snap out of it, goddamnit..!"

I didn't care that the clothes I pulled on were the dirty ones from yesterday. It wasn't as if I'd _done_ anything in them; Sunday was Craig Tucker's fucking chill day. It was a day of watching the same episodes of Red Racer that had graced the television for years, not of going out and doing stupid shit. If anyone felt the need to drag me somewhere, they would do it on one of the other six days of the week, or they wouldn't do it at all.

The comfort that slipped through my veins when I brought out my chullo was a welcome relief. That thing held memories, I suppose, but what made me love it was the fact that it was unchanging. It was the one constant thing in my life. Nobody touched the hat because they'd find themselves missing blood if they did. It needed to stay... uncontaminated. If someone else had the privilege of touching it, then they could leave their memories with it, too. And if that person left... I wouldn't be able to handle wearing my hat any more. I wouldn't.

I didn't look at the mirror before I clomped down the stairs, uncaring of the noise my high-tops made against them; I didn't want to. I didn't want to risk confirming that my inner shittiness was reflected there.

I didn't want to eat, either, and I didn't want to drive the goddamn car, because the roads were icy as shit. Couple that with my state of mind, and you've got a wreck waiting to happen.

...Probably a few dead pedestrians, too.

So I walked. I watched my laces flop about as music blasted from my headphones and inhaled the scent of my favorite detergent from the straps of my backpack. Maybe Mom had decided to take her head out of her ass for once and actually do something nice for her only son.

"Nah," I said aloud. Even considering something like that was ridiculous. After all, my mom was pretty hot, but she was a complete asshat.

The thoughts of her had served to push thoughts of Tweek from my mind, but my subconscious must have still been focused on him, because I had walked to his old house.

Suddenly, I didn't give a fuck that it was only six thirty in the morning. All I could do was run up to the door and ring the bell, my heart thumping and my eyes swimming. I hissed his name under my breath like it was the only thing tying me to life any longer. The screaming in my ears did nothing to keep me from picking up the little gasps from the other side of the door.

It swung open, and I fell on him. The tiny kid staggered backwards with a shriek. He must have been struggling to support my weight; I had around eight inches on him, and a good sixty pounds, too, if the narrowness of his frame had anything to say about it. He was like a slightly elongated version of the child I had known so many years ago... So coffee really _does_ stunt your growth.

I could say nothing, and I couldn't budge, even when my iPod fell to the floor. Cold air swirled about us, carrying snowflakes in onto Tweek's carpet. Slowly, slowly, his knees buckled, and I made no move to stop us from going down. We collapsed in a heap onto the floor, and I could feel his heart beating erratically where the skin of our hips had crashed together in out landing. He was heaving beneath me; I lifted my head and shoulders up enough to see that he was crying.

His eyes flashed up to meet mine, and I was stricken by the size of them. Wide and tall, and accented by perfectly curly lashes... I found myself unable to look away. I was captivated by him, even then.

"C-C-Craig..." he whispered.

Then he started bawling again.

I was able to compose myself enough to lift us both from the doorway. He was a doll in my arms, flopping about with absolutely no resistance. With a grunt, I pushed my back against his door to shut it. This left Tweek slumped into my chest, clinging to the front of my hoodie with bony fists. He had managed to quiet his noises to a soft, broken keening, and I still had not said a word.

Not "I missed you." Not "what the fuck, you were gone for such a long time." Not "why the hell didn't you ever text me?" Not "I'm glad you're back." Just silence. Just Craig.

He clawed himself up higher, pressing a wet cheek to the bared skin of my neck. It felt like he was trying to worm himself into my ribcage, or something... I realized that he must have been freezing, and unzipped my jacket to pull him into it. He reached up to slide his arms into the spare space in my sleeves, which tugged us even closer together. I hummed into his hair until he slithered to the floor in order to lead me upstairs by the front of my shirt.

His house was exactly the same, from the green shag carpet to the uneven underwear drawer. It even fucking _smelled_ the same in there, despite the fact that the Tweaks could have been back for no more than a few days. The only difference that I could spot was actually a rather large one: boxes were piled up all over the place, some full, some empty. Tweek rifled through one of them now, while I sat on his bed, watching. He was plunged elbow-deep in the thing, but when he withdrew, toting a black thermal shirt, I nearly died.

"..._Arms!_" I choked, automatically moving to grab his wrists and inspect him closer. I lifted him once more, and his thighs settled on either side of my hips like they were made to fit there, but that thought was barely of consequence at the time. I was too overcome with shock from what I thought I had seen on his arms. My mind hadn't been playing tricks on me, after all: the skin was soft, smooth, completely hairless... and riddled with cuts. Fresh ones, scabbed ones, scars; they covered his arms so absolutely that there might not have been any unmarred skin at all. I stared at it, mesmerized, and thoughtlessly revealed my own forearm. What I assumed to be his newest cuts had opened up, and blood had begun to well from them. On impulse, I pressed my wounds to his. They matched up perfectly.

Our lives ran down from our wrists, mixing, becoming one, and I was driven to whisper one thing to him.

"_...I love you."_

But I kept it to myself.

Eventually, I released him, making a disgusted sound in the back of my throat. He whimpered, shrinking away from me like a beaten dog to tug the thermal over his head. The sleeves covered only about three quarters of the damage; he wrapped his hands around his wrists in a vain attempt to hide the rest away.

"D-downstairs," he suggested weakly, twitching.  
>"Sweatshirt," I demanded. He had no option but to obey, because I stood between him and the staircase.<p>

In the kitchen, he busied himself with filling a wide thermos with black coffee. I noticed that he slipped a pair of pills in it; they fizzled into nothing under our combined gazes.

I turned to him, cocking an eyebrow. "What are those?"

"ADD d-doesn't go away."

"Eh. Good enough for me." He had to know that I cared, though, right? Right?

"...I know." For some reason, he smiled at that.

I shrugged and followed him back out to the entryway, supervising the fastening of his boots. At least _his_ choice of footwear was logical; I couldn't say the same about myself.

"I-I can finally l-lace them by myself, Craig!" he cried proudly, barely blushing. I nodded and gave his hair an affectionate tousle. Soft... My heart protested again.

_Woahh. Easy, boy._

Together, we braved the cold, content to leave each other to our thoughts. I didn't expect him to make a move for the garage; driving would undoubtedly be too much pressure, and walking was going to have to be good for today, regardless. No cars for uneasy Craigs.

As we walked, I realized that it was a miracle that it was actually _him_ who had opened the door. It could have been anybody – five years is an awful long time to be away from a place. They could have moved into any house in the fucking city, but it had been their old one.

"W-we never sold it," the blonde squeaked, reading my thoughts. "A-and we couldn't afford to r-rent the apartment in N-N-Nebraska after D-dad got l-l-laid off, s-so we h-had to move back here. I was so f-fucking _scared_, man, I thought that there'd be gnomes in my c-closet! And they would have grown v-vicious from feeding off of the D-Dumpsters behind C-City Wok, a-and they would have eaten my br_agh_brains, dude! And then they'd suck the marrow f-from my bones and leave the empty husks in the D-Dumpster! And then the g-government would get involved, because they would blame it on L-L-Lu K-Kim, and people sucking out other p-people's bone marrow is f_-fucked UP_, man!"

"That _is_ pretty fucked up," I admitted, giving his arm a friendly punch.

Just like that, we had fallen back into step. Those years of endless emotional night may very well not have passed at all. Looking at us, we were just best friends walking to school in clothing that made little sense for the weather. It was... surreal to have this slight boy by my side again, but I wouldn't have traded it for anything, no matter how gay that sounds. He was the piece that had been missing from my life. The void he had left in me was what I had been trying to fill with the blood that I drew with my knife.

I didn't think that his return would do anything for that unfortunate habit, though. At school, Kenny didn't see it, either. He made it his business to check me every fucking day, and what he saw that morning made him frantic.

"Oh, shit, dude, you cut again? You need to fucking stop..." His voice was a coo. A fucking coo. My _parents_ never even cooed at me; I didn't need this underfed asshole to make up for that, and I sure as hell didn't need his pity.

"Says Mr. Daily _fucking_ Suicide! I don't need this bull now, dude. Suck me."

The fucking pervert took the bait. _Anything _was better than trying to sit through both his and the teacher's lectures, believe me.

"I know how to do that~," he promised, running a hand up my thigh. I slapped it down with my own, holding it there, squeezing until his knuckles popped.

"Ah-ah-ah," I chided, grinning in spite of myself as he jerked down toward his hand, wincing. "Not so fast, loverboy."

"I have weed!" he gasped, pleading with his eyes. Blue.

"I just so happen to enjoy that... How much?"

"Enough!"

"For?"

"Three or four, if you're not a greedy little fuck!"

I let him go, satisfied. He nursed his fingers with an injured expression, flexing them until he was sure that nothing had been broken. Hey, I'm not that big of an asshole unless it's deserved.

"I'll bring the company," I declared, thinking of a certain blonde and _just_ how nice another set of lips felt when I was high.

"Newbies are always fun." He winked seductively, knowingly, and my stomach clenched.

Fuck you, McCormick. Nobody – and I repeat: NOBODY – has the right to be as insightful as you. Couldn't you just focus your attention on someone else for a change? Irritable ol' Craigy is just about ready to burst your balls, and you don't need the beginnings of a sixth sense to figure that shit out.

But I just wasn't in the mood to kick the shit out of him, even though he refused to wipe that cocky-ass grin off of his face. I was pretty sure that the teacher was done babbling about poets or whatever the fuck it was, and so I got ready to go sleep in second period.

Today was going to be fucking _long_.

The first thing that I did when I got into the cafeteria for lunch was to hunt Tweek down. I hadn't seen him in class once, and that faggy tic that had developed in my heart was raw with worry. Things hadn't been exactly wonderful for him before he moved...

Luckily, his bright yellow hair stood out from the crowd, and if it hadn't, the outbursts of "sweet baby Jesus!" would have done the trick. Grinning, I made my way over to him and snatched the thermos from his hands.

"Gah!" Tweek spun around, eyes wide, and threw himself flat against the wall. I snickered as I watched recognition play across his face and greeted him with a little wave. "Craig, don't p-pull shit!"

"Who's pulling shit? I was just getting myself some coffee," I deadpanned, unscrewing the cap from his thermos and taking a swig. It was cold and bitter, and I had to fight to keep my nose from curling in disgust.

"...W-what if I spit in that?"

I shrugged and took a place in line. I couldn't tell what was for lunch, but it smelled fucking great, for once. Maybe the crotchety old chef had died...

"Or w-what if it was p-piss instead of c-c-coffee? Or liquefied brains?"

"That sounds fucking delicious. Where do I get some?"

Tweek stared at me, dumbfounded. His shoulders shook, and he held his hands close to his chest – the perfect height for picking at the collar of his shirt, should the need arise. He looked like he was about to do it then; I intervened, grabbing his wrists and yanking them down to his waist, then turning to move with the line as if nothing had happened.

We were silent for a moment... Or as silent as things get with a guy like him, at least. There were still the occasional whimpers. Admittedly, they were getting to me. I wanted to know if it was me he was thinking about, if he had been preoccupied with thoughts of me during class as I had been preoccupied with thoughts of him...

It was steak and potatoes for lunch, and they were making my stomach growl like a fucking bear. My mouth watered as the scent of them wafted up to me, and I wanted to rub my face around in them as we moved to my customary lunch table. Kenny and Clyde were there already; Token was out.

"Stupid asshole probably skipped to go fucking hang-gliding," I muttered as we sat down. I pulled my twitchy blonde tight against my side, soliciting a shriek. The _other_ blonde laughed in that self-sufficient way of his, the laugh that he used when he understood more than he was letting on. I shot him a glare, but did nothing else. Clyde hadn't even noticed that Tweek was there; he was too busy being amazed by my meal.

"Dude, that looks amazing! Last time my mom cooked steak, she burnt the damned things to a crisp. I couldn't even _chew_ them," Clyde pouted, reaching to grab to fork from my hand. I shoved the bite into my mouth quickly and made a show of chewing it, half-lidding my eyes and even moaning for show. For a second, I thought he was going to snatch the rest of it from my tray in revenge, but he just pushed himself up from his seat.

"...Bitch. Gonna go get one of them things, man, before I die of starvation."

"Like _that's_ ever going to happen, tubby," Kenny interjected, stretching immensely. "I'm eating it on you, just to prove a point."

"Mmm-mm!" Clyde whined, pushing him. "And if you think I'm getting you one, you'd better be fucking coming along for the ride!"

"Yeah, okay, I get it. You don't want everyone to think you're being a fatass and eating two servings yourself."

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with double servings! I am a growing boy, and I need my nourishment!"

"If getting your nourishment means eating all of the snacks in the house when you get home from school every day..."

"Oh, you _watch_ it, McCormick!"

Their banter faded as they walked away. That left only Tweek and I at the round table... I found myself noting every little twitch he made against my skin as I continued to shovel bite after bite into my mouth.

Emotional turmoil makes me _ravenous_...

"...H-how do you eat that?" He wasn't twitching any more.

I paused to give him a sidelong glance. "Whadyu mean?"

"How d-do you _do_ it?"

This time I _really_ stopped, turning my torso to look at him directly. He was just sitting there, shivering, clinging onto the thermos I had returned to him for dear life. The fingers of one hand kept flicking up to caress the disaster of his wrists. His cuts peered out from the safety of his sleeves, baring Tweek's pain to the world. I gently tugged his sleeves down over them and sighed deeply. He hadn't once made a move to get anything to eat. I shuffled the conversation a bit so that it focused on him instead of me.

"Aren't you hungry?"

He mumbled something dismissive, turning his face away from me. I grabbed his chin and turned him back to me; he was blushing ans refusing to meet my eyes.

"Don't you, like, eat or anything?"

"Black coffee," he responded immediately.

"...Dude."

"I... I'll get all f-fat, cuz they p-put addictive chemicals in that shit, man! A-and then you won't be able to pick me up and c-carry me a-any more..."

"Don't do that shit for me."

Stern Momma!Craig came out then. I waggled a finger at Tweek like I had done to Kenny that morning, then cut an insultingly small piece out of my steak and held it out for him. "Ahhh."

Tweek resisted the prompt, leaning away from me. He seemed genuinely disgusted, and for that I was genuinely worried. I pressed the fork against his mouth, but it was no use: his lips were pressed together tightly. Even the barest touch of the meat made him heave, like he was going to retch.

I felt my eyebrows knit together as I looked over him. I was noticing things that I had not noticed before: how taut his skin really was over his bones. How visible his ribs were – even through his shirt, I could count them. The depth that his eyes had sunk into his face, and the darkness of the circles around them. How sections of his hair were frazzled and damaged from his ripping at it. How blood had darkened the black cloth over his arms, made it cling to the skin like wet paper.

How his eyes shone as he fought to keep them away from me. How strikingly his collar bone stood out...

I wanted to kiss this fragile thing, to have my arms around him, to whisk him away from all the suffering he had to endure. I wanted to shield him, to protect him, to wrap him in light... But mostly I wanted him to feel the _love_ that I held for him, and be healed.

The sound of Kenny and Clyde's back-and-forth broke the spell, if only for a moment.

Kenny was politely interested, now that he had his own food. "What, baby bein' fussy, Momma?"

Blinking to clear any traces of fag thoughts in my eyes, I played along. "Yeah. Got any cure for that, Daddy?"

He rubbed his chin. "Hmmm..."

"Shove it up his ass!" Clyde cut in happily.

Even Tweek gave a little giggle at that. I shot him something meaningful and, ever so grudgingly, he ate the morsel that I held out. He would take no more, though, and I wasn't pushing. Progress was progress. I didn't know how he had behaved when I wasn't there, and I was still fucking hungry, anyway. I munched away on the rest of my steak, smiling with one side of my mouth when Tweek snuck some mashed potatoes when he thought I wasn't watching.

When the bell rang, signaling dismissal from lunch, I pulled Tweek to the side and held him against the same wall that he had pressed himself upon before. "After school, you, Kenny and I are gonna do something amazing."

"T-too much pressure, man!"

I smirked. "Nah, not once we're done."

Kenny and I got sick of fidgeting in shop class _real_ fast. Fifteen minutes into it and I was already itching to go.

"Let's just fucking ditch already, man!" I breathed to him, fixing my gaze ahead to seem less conspicuous. "It's not like anything is gonna happen in this class, anyway. Where d'you have the stuff?"

"In my car, duh." He made a face like that was the most obvious thing in the world. "Are you really _that _distracted by your long-lost loverboy?"

"No way, dude! How am I supposed to know where you keep your drug stash?"

...It's hard to yell and whisper at the same time. Try it.

I could tell that Kenny wasn't buying my shit. "You like him and you know it, you mother hen, you." He held a hand up when he saw that I was going to interrupt. "But whatever! Just wait... eh... fifteen more minutes, and then we'll go fetch the kid."

I had to accept those terms; he _was_ the one with the weed. What I _didn't_ have to do was pay attention to our fat fuck of a teacher. From the looks of him, he could easily have been, like, Cartman's uncle, or something. I flipped him off – what, the first bird of the day? God damn! - and focused on the music blaring from my headphones. In my mindlessness, I scrawled the name of the song on the desk top: Mr. Owl Ate my Metal Worm.

"Wait a minute," I grumbled to myself, dragging a fingertip along the messy letters. "M-r O-w-l A-t-e m-y... It's a palindrome."

Kenny grinned at the less-than-impressive speed of my discovery. "Good job, genius."

"Yeah, whatever. One in-class epiphany is enough for today; let's beat shit."

We got up and just left, as easily as anything. The teacher didn't even look up; he was probably jerking at his desk.

I realized belatedly that I didn't know what class Tweek had, but being free was better than rotting in the classroom for any longer. I flipped off a few kids who were watching us out of a window – I had forgotten how sweet that shit was. I laughed at the temptation to kiss my middle fingers.

Kenny and I bummed around in the corner by the gym that kids like to use for smoking. Of course, we were both too fucking brilliant to do the weed there, but cigarettes are good, too. We passed my last one back and forth until students started to flow from the doors of the school, pleasantly silent. I'd figured that we'd just mull around until we happened upon Tweek.

It's lucky that we headed in the direction that we did, though, or else shit would've gotten messy. We rounded the corner in time to see my spazz backing away from a pissed-off senior. Ugh, why did the fucking seniors always have to go and poke their noses in where they didn't belong? It made me mad, and Craig Tucker has a Bruce Banner side as well as a motherly side.

"You think you can just show up and pretend like we don't all fucking hate you? You think you can just waltz back in and be best fucking _friends_ with everybody? I'll show you what happens when you try to pull shit on my girlfriend, you fucking freak!"

He didn't get the throw the fucking punch that he drew back for, oh no. I took his fist in my own and wrapped an elbow around his neck as I pulled back on it. He grunted in surprise

"You're not going to lay a fucking _finger_ on him, understand?" I hissed into his ear, my voice gravel. I felt him gulp. He got a swift kick to the back of the calf as Tweek skittered away toward Kenny, who held out his arms urgently, waving. I gave the guy another kick – this time to the ribs – as I pushed him away from me, disgusted. "_I'm_ the one running this show, faggot."

I was winding up to throw my own punch when Kenny grabbed my shoulder, sheltering Tweek in the crook of his other arm. "Look, dude, chill the fuck out! We'll go right now..."

Seeing the way that Tweek was shaking drained the rage from my bloodstream almost instantly. I sighed hugely, letting my shoulders relax. I hadn't realized how tense I'd become in just that short minute...

Kenny lead the way to his car swiftly, glancing back every once in a while, probably checking for potential supervision, or to see if the senior was following us.

"Coast is clear. Operation Get High is a go!"

"...Couldn't it at least have a less faggy name?" I whined, my teeth still on edge. Tweek was keeping on his human vibrator impression and yanking on my sleeve with all of his might. Whether that was because he was frightened of the bully or because our operation seemed sketchy, I'll probably never know.

"No way, dude. My grass, my code name."

**/I based their speech patterns off of my own O 3O;;**

**Help an author out by suggesting party venues in your reviews~? 8D?**** It's as easy as pie, promise, and my fanservice is just as delicious as the next person's.**

**Where do you want the hook ups to happen? Hmmm~?**


	3. Chapter 3 In the Cold Light of Morning

**./Breathing for Soap, Chapter 3 – In the Cold Light of Morning [while everyone's yawning you're high]**

**A/N: ****This : Sex Life – DRUGS**

**I'm Back – Dope**

**Love Me or Hate Me – Lady Sovereign [And, of course, In the Cold Light of Morning – Placebo, even though that's decidedly more somber ;p]**

**Recap: Craig's friends Clyde and Kenny don't care that Tweek is back; in fact, Kenny seems to like him. Kenny sees the attraction that Craig feels for Tweek, and Craig defends Tweek from the big, scary senior. Now they're going to get high. o3o;**

In the car, Tweek wailed. We – Kenny and I – had shoved him into the back seat and scrambled into the front before he had time to protest, and now I could barely feel my shoulders.

...Or my eardrums, but that's beside the point.

Kenny drove like a fucking maniac. He was speeding and swerving, and the only reason that we didn't get pulled over was because he had decided that dirt roads were more fun to drive on. _He_ was whooping, and _Tweek_ was screaming, one big, wordless thing that was probably the closest I had heard to profanity from him in a while. I just held my head as best as I could with the death grip he had on my shoulders.

"...Think he'll be a bit _quieter _when he's high?" I grumbled under my breath. "Kenny!"

He shot me a sidelong glare, pouting at the interruption of his excited celebration. "Whaaaat?"

"I'm already fucking hungry."

His eyes had gone back to the road, but his grin was still huge. "Dude. I have the best shit EVER."

"...Doritos?"

"Nope."

"...Cheetos?"

"No, dude, that's all too predictable!" Kenny swung a wide turn, skidding into a clearing and leaving some pretty gnarly tire tracks while he was at it. He switched to park ceremoniously and turned to face me. "No. I have _flavor-ice_."

At that, Tweek let go. "F-flavor-ice?"

"Fuck yeah, man! Y'know... Those ice pop things. Cheap as fuck. Awesome as fuck. The works."

"Whatever, Craig. Me 'n Tweek will just share them all if you don't want any."

I punched him. Just a little one, but a punch, all the same.

"Okay, okay, pissy. I'll go get the cooler – you roll up the windows, or something. Make yourself useful."

I twisted to look at Tweek as Kenny left. He was marginally calmer now, and staring at me with those wide eyes of his. I didn't know if he'd ever been high before, but I didn't find myself caring much, either.

I just hoped that he was a horny stoner.

"Things to know: Kenny does it one joint at a time, and you're not allowed to open the door or the window once we've lit it." Suddenly, something occurred to me, and I leaned across the separator and stick shift to yell out of Kenny's door. "Hey, McCormick! D'you have spare clothes?"

He came shuffling back around slowly, holding the cooler with two hands between his knees like it fucking weighed a million pounds. "Maybe a shirt or two, if we're lucky. I'd suggest just taking off whatever you don't want to get smoked up."

Of course, the bastard had to add a wink and a waggle of the tongue to that last bit.

"...'Kay. But now's not the time to go all mother hen, Kenny."

I was referring to the wounds that Tweek and I sported; with his intuition, Kenny had probably already figured out that my spazz cut, too, and I didn't want him ruining the smoking mood.

I stripped callously, pulling my sweater and tee over my head like it was nothing. Kenny was doing the same, but he didn't stop there; the pants were coming off, too. Even with the heater on, it was a tit bit nipply in there...

A little action would fix that, for sure.

We shoved our clothes in the cooler in place of the half-frozen pops we had dumped on the back seat and fixed our eyes on the only boy still clothed. Tweek shuddered, looking unsure of himself.

My cue!

"Well, if you can't get out of those clothes yourself..."

In place of the protests I had been expecting, I got silence. Tweek scooted forward and held his arms up to me expectantly.

"What's this?" I faked ignorance. Just how far would that little shit go?

"...Youdoit. Y-you help."

I shared a smirk with Kenny before squeezing through the gap in the seats to sit beside him. My stomach clenched when I felt the iciness of the pops through my pants, but it was a pain that I was willing to suffer if this went where I thought it was going.

"What do you want me to do, Tweek?"

His face was a pout of frustration and confusion already, and I reveled in it. "T-take it off."

"Whaa?"

His eyebrows creased even deeper, and now he shook his head as he spoke, exasperated. "F-fucking take my shirt off for me!"

I couldn't help the smile that spread over my face. I leaned forward and put a finger under his chin, lifting his face close to mine. "Take it _ea_sy, Tweekers."

He blinked, unwilling to acknowledge my request. He still moved smoothly under my grasp as I readjusted his position and reached for his zipper. I pulled it down as slowly as I could without taking my eyes from his. His lower lip was trembling _ever_ so slightly... I could only imagine the aneurysm Kenny was giving himself, resisting the temptation to break the hormonal stupor we were sinking into. /end faggotry

I eased the sweatshirt off of his arms, and moved on to his thermal.

Tweek shivered when my hands gripped his wrists on their way down to the lower hem; we were close enough that I felt the tremors run beneath his skin, prompting answering ones under my own. My eyes wanted to roll back into my head... Was it wrong to feel so gone before the blunt had even been lit?

Inside my head, I was already panting. Just the _face _he was making at me was gonna get me fucking hot if I didn't watch myself.

I distracted myself from that by stripping him. And if I had planned on keeping those sparks flying once that shirt came up over Tweek's head, then my hopes would have been dashed by the awesome mess the static tossed his hair into.

"That thing looks like a fucking bird's nest, Tweek!" Kenny cackled. The kid didn't seem to be offended, though; in fact, he appeared to be relieved that that ordeal was over with [my pride took the hit unflinchingly]. "Okay, okay. Craig, wanna hand over your lighter so we can get this bitch started?"

"You don't have to explain shit to me, man," I quipped as I fished for it in my pocket. Handing it over, I grumbled, "These jeans are getting tight."

hadn't prepared myself for the sudden roaring that filled the car.

"What's that, Craigy? Getting' carried away already?" Kenny was slapping his knees, and Tweek had his head thrown back as the mirth bubbled from them both.

"Shut the fuck up! That's not what I meant!"

"N-no B-BJs until I'm baked!"

...Stupid fucking homoerotic humor.

"Liiiight it and fucking hand it over," I demanded, remembering once more how nice it was to give people the finger. He acquiesced through the last of his chuckles. "And it's not my fault if you upholstery magically catches on fire."

"Just like it's not my fault if you fuck up the hotbox?"

"Yeah. Just like that."

I snatched the weed from him and greedily brought it to my lips, wanting to take in as much as I could with that first inhale.

Kenny pumped up the jams, playing some mixed CD that was pretty stacked, if I do say so myself. Cage the Elephant, DRUGS, LMFAO... and Dope, ironically enough.

"It's Yes!" Kenny crowed with a fist pump.

"I know that song! Wakin' up next to a beautiful giiirl~," I winked and pointed the double-barrels at Tweek teasingly. He squealed and pushed me away, giggling.

"You t-tease!"

"I do."

We were content for a moment, just passing our blunt and listening to the music. Tweek took his smoke like a fucking pro...

_And then they say, "Fool, your royal penis is clean!"_

I didn't say anything. I just caught Tweek's eye and raised a brow at him.

"I-I'm _not_ c-cleaning your royal penis!"

Kenny and I roared with laughter, high-fiving and clapping like fucking retarded seals in our glee.

"Your penis is _royal_ now, dude!"

"I knoooooow!"

We had Tweek stopped up for the umpteenth time. "...L-lucky that you're b-both high..."

"Here, whatever, you two. Snack time. Now. Before I fucking shrivel up from this cotton mouth."

He tossed up a pair of pops for the both of us, and tore the top off of a blue one for himself. He sat sucking on it happily as he enjoyed the momentarily stupid expressions that crossed our faces.

I opened mine and snatched the blunt from him. A bite of ice, a puff of weed... The contrast between the chilliness and the warmth was fucking amazing.

"Somebody write this shit _downnn_," I demanded, my head lolling back as I basked in the ecstasy, and those were the only words that were said for quite some time.

Kenny was stretched out across the entire front section of the car; Tweek and I leaned against our respective doors, our legs a tangled mess in the space between us.

Time passed like dripping honey, nice 'n sweet 'n slow. Each and every one of us stared off into space, laughing intermittently - goddamn near everything is fucking hysterical when you're stoned.

I couldn't help but smile at the way Tweek was slurping the very end of the joint, seeing how close the cherry could get to his mouth before he'd have to give it up. I probably looked like a retard.

Although I was hungry as fuck, I didn't really mind only having ice to crunch on. The warmth of my hands had melted the thing down quite a bit, actually; I mashed it with my fingers and chuckled its jumping.

When that wasn't fun any more, I pressed my forehead against the window. It was pretty fuckin' smoky in the car... But it was still amusing enough to swirl the print I had left with my fingertip, and doubly as amusing to lick the entire window clean, doodling with my spit.

"Dudes, lookit this~," I drawled, pointing at the spit-dick I had drawn with a heavy hand.

"Picasso!"

"Da Vinci!"

"Leonardo!"

"Th-that's the same guy!"

"...Monte Carlo!"

"...I-is that where we're st-staying when you bring us to Vegas, Ken?"

kinda forget what happened next. I guess the high must have been pretty good if I can't even fucking remember it. All I know is that Kenny had lit another one up, and I was hogging the _shit _out of it.

When Kenny managed to finally pry it away from me, I really mellowed out. My feet were propped up on the driver's headrest, my knees slack, making my legs as open and wide as a class hooker's.

I watched the microscopic shards of ice swirl around in the juice of my flavor-ice. "Drink it."

"Whaaa~?" Tweek slurred, leaning on my shoulder heavily.

"Tilt your head back and say aaaah." How many times was I going to have to say that today?

He did as I told without putting up a fight at all. Obediently, he opened his mouth, stretching his tongue up to slant the plastic package. I gave the thing a tiny squeeze to break the seal at the top and watched, mesmerized, as the pear-flavored stuff pooled around his tongue. I felt the impulse to stick my finger in there and swirl it around... Being baked out of my mind, I just went the fuck ahead and did it.

And you know what? He fucking sucked on my finger, and it felt amazing.

**A/N: It's been a while, babes~ I was at my cousin's house for a week, and then she came here for another week, and I didn't get any writing done at all |D**

**So I came back, read all of your comments, and worked super hard – read : fast – to get y'all this! 8D**

**...And I ate flavor-ices while I wrote :3**


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